At first glance, a primitive stone blade with animal hide securing it to a wooden shaft. Once picked up, with in the blink of an eye, the blade takes on the appearance and craft style of the wielders race, filling the individual with racial pride matched by no other...

An open room lay before them, occupied only by a few cobwebs and dust. Upon entering, a phrase is seen on one wall. One of them utters the phrase out of wonder for its meaning, unknowingly activating the room. An eye opens on the wall in front of the poor souls and with a quick flash of light, the last thing heard from the room is heart retching screams... then silence.

"They're many names given to the things of
this vast consciousness that we don't understand, are afraid of, or otherwise
just don't want to be associated with. These creatures, though familiar in appearance
to many common races, have no name for themselves, but have been appropriately named "Concordare Iram", Translated:
Harmonized Rage."